


no gods, no masters

by CommenceElimination (MagitekUnit05953234)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Fluff and Angst, Gender Dysphoria, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, Mentioned Ardyn Izunia, Mentioned Gladiolus Amicitia, Mentioned Ignis Scientia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompto is a real boy, Self-Worth Issues, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Zegnautus Keep, honestly It's mostly just feelings with a side dish of porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagitekUnit05953234/pseuds/CommenceElimination
Summary: I love you, Prompto thinks. Just to sound it out in his head. Just to test the feel of it, paired with Noct's heartbeat beneath a gentle kiss pressed to the neck.I love you.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 3
Kudos: 59





	no gods, no masters

**Author's Note:**

> On terminology: Noctis and Prompto are both transmasculine in this. I refer to the clitoris as a dick because that is what I do in my own life. Any references to the vagina itself are kept fairly vague.  
> I've never written smut before. You can kind of tell.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Prompto clutches at his crossed arms, fingers pressing against the bruises still tender across his skin. "Just because you think I— because of everything."

"Of course this is what I want," Noct brushes a hand across Prompto's forearm, lightly pulling his hands away from the marks that they hadn't the supplies to fix. Potions are in limited supply in Gralea, and though Prompto is perhaps better suited —maybe even made— to consume the sickly Niff imitations that are occasionally scattered throughout the facility, Ignis suggested that they refrain from using them if they were not in a life-or-death situation. Noct had tried one during his isolated search through Zegnautus and reported feeling severely ill until taking a normal potion, which then canceled it out... or something. Regardless, it would be a waste to try. Probably.

Noct's slides his grip from Prompto's forearm to his wrist— his right wrist. Prompo swallows back the urge to pull away. The urge to hide. Noct lingers there for just a moment, ink and scarring showing through the gaps in his fingers, before finally moving on and taking Prompto's hand in his own. "I don't know what will happen when I take the Crystal. I can't help but feel that... something is going to happen that— I just want this, okay? With you. If you want it. If this is my last chance."

Something cold roils in Prompto's ribs. All throughout the latter years of high school he dreamed for this moment, certain that it would never happen. Now it is and... of course. "Your last chance? So, I'm your last choi—"

"No!" Noct interjects, his voice louder than before. "No, you're not... you're not my last choice or— or a replacement or— whatever you're thinking. I thought you knew what I... thought of you."

The thing is, Prompto did know. Sort of.

When Prompto and Noct were nineteen, Noct skipped out of a meeting early. Prompto doesn't really know what the meeting was about or how Noct managed to get out of it, but he does know that Noct came to his house afterward. He knows that Noct brought beer, a stupidly expensive kind because he could afford it even though it tasted just the same as the cheap stuff in Prompto's opinion. He knows that they drank. A lot more than they should have, but not enough to completely wipe out the night. He knows that they kissed. That Noctis held Prompto close and that if Prompto had asked, they probably could have —would have— done much more than just that. He knows that Noct said  _ I love you _ into Prompto's neck and that Prompto could feel the blush rise to Noct's cheeks on his own skin. He knows that they slept until noon the next day in the same bed, and that when Noctis woke up Prompto wanted to kiss him again and again and return those three little words if not for the massive hangover that clung to his senses and made his head pound. He knows that Noct never mentioned it again.

"I remember," Prompto can't quite manage to meet Noct's eyes, so he doesn't. "I thought you were just... drunk and sad, y'know? S'why I never brought it up again. Didn't think it was serious."

"It was," Noct clasps Prompto's hand in two, now. "I just— it was the beginning of talks about marrying me off. The next meeting I had was when they told me I was engaged. I didn't want to force you into a position that could hurt you. And you never... said..."

"I know," Prompto steels his nerve. Looks up from their joined hands, pale and scarred and scared. Looks up from the dark, deceivingly dormant ring that rests heavy on Noct's finger and sits cold against Prompto's.

Noct looks tired. Nervous, too. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, the kind that he'd often develop in high school when he was going through an exceptionally bad downswing. His hair hangs in his face, not having been styled the way he likes it since before Altissia. Once everything went down he just kind of stopped bothering with things like that in response.

Prompto bothered too much with his, sort of desperate to prove that things could be normal after the disaster. Now, though? His hair is down, too. He was able to shower in the washroom beside this dormitory —there's one set of rooms on one side of the washroom, which Noct and Prompto have claimed, and one set on the other where Ignis and Gladio are giving them space to collect themselves— and he thought it was pretty stupid to bother with hair gel when he had more pressing things to worry about, like the fact that he had barely eaten in the past few days or that he had missed several doses of his medication.

"Hey," Noct catches Prompto's eye. He smiles and he's tired. But he's smiling.

Prompto smiles back. "Hey."

"Do you want to..." Noct trails off. He laughs a little, and turns his head toward the beds set against the wall. Unlike what is in the dorms on the other side of the washroom block, the beds here are the standard sort, not one on top of the other. Thank the fucking gods for that.

"Yeah," Prompto agrees before he looses his nerve. He  _ does _ want this, it's just. There's a lot tied into this.

It's a lot.

Noct leads the two of them to the bed furthest from the door and sits down. Prompto follows, sitting beside him on his knees. The blankets are rough, but are at least better than the sort in the caravans out in Leide. Those had to be the worst ones in all their travels.

"So," Noct hesitates, turning toward Prompto and then stopping dead still. His eyes flick down to Prompto's lips. "Can I...?"

Before he can psych himself out of how absolutely insane it is that he is doing this here and now with the king of Lucis, Prompto leans in. Noct's eyes widen then flutter shut.

The thing about their first kiss is, it is  _ not _ their first. It is far from Prompto's first to be sure —having had quite a few tries with quite a few people in high school once people decided he was worth the time of day— and it isn't the first between the two of them. That honor goes to something alcohol-laden and hazy, something tied in the melancholy of a life caged in gilded bars and another life with no direction. Now their woes are deeper and heavier, grief tearing Noct in two with every new rendition of fate's same deadly dance, and the marks of metal and fire and genetic burden burn deep in Prompto's flesh.

There is sadness here. There is sadness in this first kiss but it is quiet. It is pushed aside for just a moment. Their eyes are clear and their hands do not falter, pulling each other closer even as they part for breath. Prompto is helpless in it —in the feeling of Noct's lips against his own, in the way they are pressed together chest to chest, in the absolute conviction he feels and that he sees mirrored in Noct. If Prompto were still nineteen and drunk and oh so stupid,  _ this _ is when he would confess his undying love for his best friend.

_ I love you _ , Prompto thinks. Just to sound it out in his head. Just to test the feel of it, paired with the Noct's heartbeat beneath a gentle kiss pressed to the neck.  _ I love you _ .

"Is it okay if I take this off?" Noct pulls away, and rather than moving to clutch at the hem of Prompto's shirt like Prompto expects, Noct instead takes hold of his own.

"Yeah," Prompto can't help but smile at that. "Yeah, uh. Blanket permission to take off whatever you want."

It takes Noct a brief moment to actually commit to it, which may seem a little silly considering that he has spent a decent amount of time shirtless around Prompto for one reason or another, but Prompto knows just as much as Noct how hard it can be to take the plunge each and every time.

Prompto averts his eyes as Noct pulls his shirt over his head, watching it his the floor a few feet from the bedposts. He wonders what Noct will see when Prompto does the same.

"You can look," Noct says.

Prompto looks.

Noctis is beautiful. It does not take a genius nor a poet to convince anyone of that. Simply having eyes does the job just fine. His body is a tribute to the effort he has put in through the years to perfect it, with training and testosterone treatments and top surgery creating an aesthetic masterpiece of a man that Prompto has to convince himself he is allowed to behold. It is almost as if Noct's image should be in a museum somewhere with a sign beside it.  _ Look, but don't touch. _

Someday it probably will be.

File that thought away for later.

Noct steals another kiss, two —his breath stuttering when Prompto takes the initiative and runs a hand up Noct's torso starting at the soft curve of his hips.

"Is this okay?" Prompto asks as his fingertips just barely touch the swell of Noct's pecs. He was lucky enough not to have anything more than pinprick scars from his years-gone top surgery so Prompto doesn't have to be careful in a physical sense, but still.

"It's okay. You can do whatever you want," Noct sounds almost breathless. "I've wanted... well. For a long time I've been thinking about you. Like this. Whatever you want, I'm here. Anything. Okay?"

Prompto nods. He inches his hand up until he's cupping the fullness of Noct's chest against his palm. Noct tips into Prompto, close enough that Prompto can hear the hitch in his breath when Prompto rolls a thumb across his nipple. Anything further than this is uncharted territory, but Prompto is neither a quitter nor a coward. He leans down and —after a moment's hesitation— takes it into his mouth.

"Fuck," Noct whispers it, but it may as well be a gunshot in the near-silence of their dorm room. "Fuck, yeah."

Prompto grins naturally, having to pull away briefly because he just can't stop himself. "Good?"

"Great," Noct's hands end up in Prompto's hair, not pulling or even petting. Just there. Regardless, it feels like a blessing. "Keep going."

It isn't until Noct reaches for Prompto's clothes that they have to slow down for a moment. Though everyone is more or less aware of what Prompto has going on they've never quite seen it with their own eyes. Even Noct, who has born witness to much of Prompto that no one else has, has not seen him without a shirt in his life.

"It's all good," Prompto reassures him after the initial, accidental flinch as Noct dipped beneath the hem of his shirt to take hold of his hips. On mutual agreement, they both end up getting up briefly to remove their remaining clothing, casting them to the dormitory floor without thought as to what went where.

"Oh," Noct sighs when he sees the full length of Prompto's body. It takes everything Prompto has in him to remind himself that he's covered in scars nowadays —some much  _ much _ more recent than others— and that he is still more-or-less freshly injured from his recent stint as king bait. Though quite a lot of it was visible thanks to clothing that is looser than it used to be or the sheer fact that Prompto almost never wears shirts with sleeves, now the entire canvas of Prompto's hurts are laid bare.

It's not because he's fat or... or ugly, or... something. It's not. It's because of the scars. It's because of the bruises still scattered over his legs, his ribs, his breasts —unbound since he first fell from the train for fear of having broken his ribs on impact. Surely,  _ surely _ it's just because he's hurt. It has to be.

"Prompto," Noct's make an odd aborted movement at his sides. "You're so... shit. You're so handsome."

That stops Prompto's whirling thoughts dead in their tracks, before starting them right back up again on a different track for good measure.  _ Handsome? _ That can't really be what Noct said, can it? About  _ Prompto _ ? Bruised, battered, damaged Prompto? Stretch-marked, acne-pocked Prompto? Hardly even a real man, hardly a real person at all—

"Hey," Noct steps closer. "Don't look at me like that. What's wrong?"

"You don't have to say things like that just to make me feel better," Prompto is becoming terribly aware of how naked Noctis is as their proximity narrows. How naked  _ Prompto _ is. Somehow existing this way without touching at all feels much more intimate than fondling Noct's chest.

"I'm saying it because it's true," Noct almost seems to tower over Prompto now as if they have a noticable height difference, but in reality Prompto is simply curling inward on himself. "I don't say things I don't mean. You know that."

It has come to the point that looking into Noct's eyes seems the safest thing to do. Glances toward the floor provide a view of Noct's body that Prompto can't help but feel he is stealing somehow, despite their mutual consent in every aspect of their current situation.

"Can I touch you?"

Prompto bites his lip. Despite wanting this, wanting Noct's touch and Noct's love after years of doubt and self-flagellation, now that it is Prompto's for the taking he can't help but feel nervous. Unworthy. He tries his best to push that back. For once, can't he have something nice? Can't he have something he truly desires? Can't he just let himself love and be loved without protest that caters to nothing but his ingrained insecurities? "Yeah."

The simple act of Noct leading Prompto back to bed with a hand pressed to the small of his back feels like a religious experience. Prompto could write hymns about the way that even the simplest of touches sends shivers through him, raises goosebumps on his arms. There may be no gods dedicated to the intersection between touch starvation and arousal, but Prompto is about ready to singlehandedly will a whole new diety into the pantheon tonight.

"What do you think?" Noct asks when they've settled back in. Prompto is reclined against the wall where it meets the mattress, with Noct on his knees to one side. "What do you want?"

"I want anything," Prompto can talk all day about things that don’t matter but  _ this _ is... hard. "I'm good with anything, I think. I want... can you maybe come up here?"

Noct shifts, slinging one leg over Prompto's hips so he's straddling him. The mere image —there's barely any contact between them save for incidental brushes of legs— is enough to make Prompto's dick incredibly interested in tonight's assumed proceedings.

Noct leans in so he's nearly nose-to-nose with Prompto. The closeness —the press of Noct's thighs, his stomach, his chest against Prompto's own— is intoxicating. The pressure makes Prompto's bruises protest, the places where he is red not from blush but from abraded skin incredibly apparent, but Prompto hardly notices any of it. They kiss once again and Prompto can't resist throwing his hands over Noct's shoulders and pulling them flush together as Noct's tongue darts between their lips. Prompto explores the expanse of Noct's back as Noct deepens the kiss further, Prompto's fingertips lightly skimming over the transition from smooth, unblemished skin to the rougher remnants of Noct's childhood injury.

Prompto, on a whim, decides to break their connection, instead pressing feather-light kisses down to Noct's neck. Noct shudders as Prompto experimentally tries a kitten-lick over Noct's jugular.

Interesting.

Prompto takes the opportunity provided and seals his lips over the spot on Noct's neck that made him shake. Noct all but collapses on top of Prompto when he begins to suck on the little patch Prompto has claimed. Noct's hips grind down hard over Prompto's, probably unintentionally but  _ oh _ , Prompto absolutely is not complaining.

"Sorry," Noct begins to lever himself up on his elbows. "Sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"I sure as fuck wouldn't mind if you did," Prompto smiles up at Noct, pressing down on Noct's shoulders lightly to coax him back down. "Do it again?"

It takes a few moments of shuffling, an awkward exchange of exactly whose legs should go where to make it work, but the first press of their dicks against one another makes Prompto breathless. It's hot and close and when Noctis angles his hips up a little it's  _ wet _ .

Prompto imagines, just for a minute, having enough there that he could press into Noct if he wanted it. That he could feel the heat of Noct's body just that much more with it around him, that he could—

Noct gasps, his head bowing over Prompto's like he's praying. Noct's rhythm is unsteady, just a little, but the friction and slide between them is driving Prompto crazy enough that he can't focus enough on the particulars to care. It's not enough, Prompto thinks, not enough to reach an end to this any time soon, but  _ gods _ if it doesn't feel good regardless.

"That's good," Noct breathes out. "That's good, Prompto. Fuck— can I maybe, can I finger you?"

Oh shit. Prompto freezes. He opens his mouth, but can't quite find the right words. Noct catches on, pulling up and away from Prompto. He's looming over Prompto and his face is shadowed by the angle of the fluorescents embedded in the ceiling above. For a moment, Prompto doesn't see Noct. For a moment, he looks like—

His bones ache.

"I'm sorry," Noct pushes his hair out of his face, and the glimmer of blue eyes is enough to shake Prompto from his daze. "I'm sorry, are you okay? I shouldn't have asked that. I know not everyone's okay with it..."

"No it's fine," Prompto shakes his head. "It's fine, don't worry about it. Um, I don't think I would... maybe not. But I could... do you? If you want?"

"I'd like that if you want to. Wanna switch places?"

Prompto finds himself nestled in the V of Noct's spread legs, hands resting on Noct's thighs. Noct smiles up at him, vulnerable on his back in enemy territory. Vulnerable on his back  _ for _ the enemy. "Whenever you're ready, okay?"

A little too nervous —and entirely inexperienced, considering that his dysphoria stopped him from ever trying this on himself— to dive right into it so to speak, Prompto massages little circles into Noct's thighs. The muscles beneath his fingers tense then relax under his ministrations.

When Prompto scrapes up the nerve to slide his left hand over and tentatively run his thumb over Noct's dick, Noct's head drops to the pillow and he covers his eyes with his forearm. Prompto hesitates, unsure if he should continue, before Noct's hips lift, chasing the contact. Prompto licks his lips, rubbing a few more circles over the head of Noct's dick before dipping lower. Prompto watches for any signs of discomfort as he presses his ring and middle fingers into Noct's opening.

_ Wow _ . Prompto didn't realize just how hot it really would be. Physically, viscerally hot. Noct clenches around his fingers, hitching himself forward until Prompto is knuckle-deep in him. Prompto curls his fingers upward, caressing Noct's inner walls, gently pressing his fingers in and out in a slow rhythm. Noct quietly moans, one hand curling in the sheets.

"Prompto, I—" Noct doesn't quite manage the next word as Prompto tries a new angle, pressing his fingertips into a place within Noct that has him arching his back up off the bed. "Gods, keep going! Right there— you can... harder—"

Prompto, emboldened, keeps going, leaning over to nudge Noct's arm from over his face and kiss him deep. Noct is practically fucking himself on Prompto's fingers now, and Prompto almost believes that if he stayed perfectly still then Noct would do all the work himself.

One very important thing about Prompto though, is that he likes to be  _ included _ . He meets Noct's thrusts with his own, coaxes Noct's lips apart with his tongue, and feels almost dizzy with the power of it all. Here is the King of Lucis, falling apart under Prompto like any other human. Like he isn't literally divine, blessed by the gods and the Crystal and fate itself. Here is Noctis, Prompto's best friend. Here is the first man Prompto has ever loved.

Clutching at Noct's hip with his free hand, Prompto stills him enough to be able to work Noct's dick with his thumb without having to pull out. Noct groans, both hands flying up to clutch Prompto at the shoulders. It only takes a few moments for Noct to shake apart entirely. He pulses around Prompto's fingers, his own pressing deep into Prompto's bruised flesh. Prompto keeps going until Noct pushes him away, mumbling something about overstimulation that Prompto doesn't quite catch. They both take a moment to smile at one another, chests heaving in the aftermath. Prompto didn't even get off and yet he's feeling like he's conquered the world. 

"Do you want me to do something for you?" Noct props himself up on his elbows. His face is flushed, and he can't seem to stop the breathless grin curling his lips. 

"You know," Prompto shakes his head. "I think I'm good."

"Are you sure?" Noct's brow furrows. "You're really hot Prompto, I promise I really do want to—"

"No, it's not that!" For once, Prompto can actually believe that Noct wouldn't want to reciprocate out of obligation. Must be the afterglow. "I just, this feels good. I wanna stay like this."

"Alright," Noct nods. "Alright."

They lay in bed together, knowing that they'll probably have to clean themselves off in the washrooms and switch beds eventually but not really wanting to move. Noct cradles Prompto to his bare chest, and Prompto contentedly pillows his head on Noct's bare skin.

"Oh fuck," Noct says suddenly, when Prompto is honestly halfway to falling asleep. "How the fuck are we supposed to get to the showers without Ignis and Gladio knowing?"

Prompto blinks. "Um...race you?"

He loses the race —as it turns out, pseudo-healed injuries don't make for quick walking speeds— but what comes next in their shared shower is well worth the effort.


End file.
